by RS McCoy
On the second floor, Theo entered a large room with a series of couches and the six Scholars who had already selected, including Isaac. Each stood in conversation, congratulating each other and describing their future research, their choice of mentor, their new lab.
“Hey, Theo. Congrats.” Isaac offered his hand, and Theo shook it, but he didn’t have anything else to say. He turned to the viewing window to watch the rest of the ceremony.
There was one person in particular he was eager to see.
Two dozen names he knew only in passing were called, a few other Scholars were brought to the viewing room, but Theo didn’t move. He would be there to support his friend even from a distance.
Mere minutes later, Nate stood at the curtains, his eyes up and to the right, to the window where Casey stood watching.
“Mr. Nathaniel Voight, Artisan.”
Theo had clearly misheard. At least, he thought he did until he saw the crimson cords placed over Nate’s shoulders, until he saw the wide consuming smile on Nate’s face, until he saw the way Nate looked up and locked eyes with him through the glass. And then, a moment later, Nate ran for the Artisan room and the boyfriend he couldn’t give up.
And like that, Theo lost the best friend he ever knew.
DASIA
COLLECTOR PRECINCT 881, HELENA, NORTH AMERICA
AUGUST 7, 2232
Reality closed in on her, a tight, suffocating grip that wouldn’t let her free. Her body ached for a dose of peace, a little taste of the purple pill.
“Dasia King?” She didn’t know how long he’d been in the interrogation room with her.
Still, she nodded. There was no use in denying it. No use in denying any of it.
The man pulled out the opposing chair and made an attempt to keep his suit from wrinkling as he sat. He placed a tablet on the table but pointed the screen so only he could see it.
“My name is Dr. Nick Pastromas. I understand you’ve had a difficult morning.”
Dasia looked at him. Her eyes burned from so many useless tears. What she wouldn’t pay to give in to anth, to sleep it all away.
But no. That wouldn’t be fair to the boy she loved. The boy she would never marry. The boy she let die.
“The coroner indicated extremely elevated levels of gaseous toxicity as cause of death. There’s nothing you could have done.”
Dasia looked up at Dr. Nick Pastromas in his fancy suit. He seemed genuine. There was no hint of smile to his clean-shaven jaw. Maybe it was the remnants of anth, still lingering, still playing its tricks.
“You mean, I’m not—” she fought for the words.
“Oh, no. You’ll still be held responsible for his death. Also, there was a large quantity of anth in your home. Possession with intent to distribute, being under the influence of an illegal substance, and breaking curfew. You’ll have quite the record when this is all processed.”
Dasia had expected no less.
It was all she deserved.
It was only a fraction of the true price of her actions. She would have to live with herself, live with Cole’s absence for the rest of her days, regardless if she was free or in prison. There was nothing a guy in a fancy suit could threaten that would be worse than what she’d already done.
“Your file indicates you selected Craftsman last year. You plan to take over your family’s farm. Is that right?”
“Does it matter anymore?”
“You took only a handful of classes at the Monarch Center, but amongst them, an interesting variety. Agriculture, Creative Writing, Calculus, Aerospace, and Geology to name a few. Do you have interests in any of these areas?”
“Does it matter?” she repeated, growing more distraught by the second.
“Your test scores indicate you are in the upper echelon of your sector. I’m curious why you would choose Craftsman when you have so many other options available.”
Dasia pushed to standing in a single, furious movement. “Is this my punishment?” she shouted, leaning over the table to scream in his face. “Are you going to remind me of all the plans I’ll never live out? Do you want me to relive this moment so you can watch my pain?” Words tumbled out rapid-fire, an onslaught she couldn’t stop once she’d started. “You want to know what happened? He was beautiful, kind, generous, sweet when it was just us. I was going to marry him, but instead I killed him. I killed him.” Her voice was little more than a crack, a squeak of agony as she broke into pieces.
The fancy-suited monster sat wide-eyed and silent. He watched as she collapsed into the chair and folded her face and arms into the table.
“I apologize, Ms. King. I think you misunderstand me entirely.”
His words fell on deaf ears. She was too angry, too grief-stricken to accept any possibility but that of her own pain. She deserved nothing more than a lifetime of misery.
He let her sit quiet for what seemed like a while. He let her cry out her tears until her sobs were still and her cheeks dry.
Then he told her what he really wanted.
“I represent a unique opportunity, one that requires complete and total submersion. I had hoped you would be willing to take a chance on us.”
With her face pressed into the crook of her arm, Dasia pretended not to listen. She didn’t want to think there might be hope for something else.
“If you accept, your record will disappear, your files will be destroyed. It will be as if none of this ever happened. As if you were never here.
“But you will never return to the life you have now. You can never contact anyone you know. You will renounce you status, your class, everything you’ve ever known.”
Her interest piqued, Dasia lifted her head. For the first time since the start of their strange conversation, she really looked at him. His late-twenties confidence, his sandy brown hair combed just so. He was hardly the type to frequent Monarch. “What?” she asked. There was no way he was real. Anth had its claws in her deeper than she thought.
“If you leave with me, I’ll take you to our facility. We’ll get you clean. It’ll be a new start. You’ll be provided living quarters and a reasonable living, but you will never leave. Once you’re with us, you’re with us until death.”
“What about my parents? The Daughertys?”
“You’ll sever ties with all of them.”
“What about my dad’s farm? Who’s going to run it?”
“That’s not really any of my concern.” It wasn’t the answer Dasia wanted. It hurt to think of her parents having no one to rely on for their future. But it made her trust the man, Nick Pastromas. If he was lying, he would make it sweet, he would make her like it. Only the truth could be so bitter.
“What will you tell them? About me? About C—” She couldn’t even say his name.
“They’ll be told a lie about where you’ve gone. In your case, I imagine it’ll include a lengthy stay in a prison nation. They’ll know the truth about his death. There’s no reason for us to alter those records. My point is, they won’t expect to see you again.”
“I can never see them again? Ever?”
Nick’s features wrestled for a moment before he answered, “Never.”
Dasia nodded slowly. “Promise?”
MABLE
SUBTERRANEAN CHICAGO, NORTH AMERICA
AUGUST 7, 2232
An hour into the pitch black tunnel network, Hadley had sobered. She was never this quiet.
“Just a little more, then we’ll break for the access port off Water Street. Just a few blocks after that.” Mable’s fingertips skimmed the stone walls mere steps behind Hadley. Even in the total dark, she couldn’t turn her back to the girl.
“What’s up with you?” Mable finally asked. If Hadley was going to have some sort of breakdown, she’d rather it be in the tunnels.
“Nothing.”
“Hadley Wallace.”
“Is it really that dangerous?” she asked. Her steps slowed.
“It can be. There are always Collectors looking to remove
Untouchables from beneath the cities.”
“But we’re not that. We don’t do drugs or steal or live in garbage.”
“They don’t know the difference. They don’t want to see the difference. If you aren’t one of them, you’re Untouchable.” It had taken Mable a year to figure out the hard truth of it.
“What if someone recognizes me?” Hadley finally asked, addressing the fear that grew with each passing moment. While she would never admit it, Mable knew Hadley longed for the home she once had but never could again.
“They won’t. There’s few enough out after curfew. And we’re practically invisible,” she added.
“But what if they do?”
“They won’t. And if they do, so what? They sent us away, remember? It was their choice, not ours.” Mable suffered no small amount of resentment at being outcast—or defecting as it was called these days—but time outside society had given her time to reflect, to see its cracks and crookedness.
Hadley was one of those that fell through the cracks.
It broke Mable’s heart.
She didn’t need light to know the fifteen-year old was afraid of the society that had so brutally cast her out. The hour they would spend on the surface would bring up painful memories—for both of them.
Mable was tempted to take her home, back to the security of the Root. As much as she struggled with what to do with Rowen, Mable had no doubt he would look after Hadley while she completed the job on her own—if for no other reason than Mable wanted it.
But if Hadley would have a future in any city, she would need a skill. And this was the only skill Mable could teach her.
Hadley would just have to deal.
The two teens walked for another half hour as the tunnel cooled. Mable’s arms prickled with chill though Hadley never said a word.
Maybe she was too worried.
At last, the tunnel’s end arrived. Mable felt for the button that would signal the restaurant owner. The thin beam of light appeared, spreading to a space large enough for a person to pass through.
Shielding their eyes, Mable and then Hadley stepped into the back office of Jean Carlo’s Italian, one of the oldest restaurants in the city. Arturo himself, the great-great grandson of the original owner, sat in his desk chair grinning.
“Ah, my darling—” he said with outstretched arms.
Mable leaned in for a hug and kissed his cheek as always.
“Who’s this?” Arturo asked when he noticed Hadley, and for good reason. He would join them in the underground if it was ever learned he aided them in any way.
“Hadley. I’m showing her the ropes.” Mable motioned the girl closer, out of the opening and within arm’s reach of the first person she’d seen above ground since defecting.
“She’s lovely.” Arturo’s warm smile was contagious as he stood and squeezed her against her chest like a father would a daughter. A grandfather of nine and lifelong restauranteur, Arturo had a way with people, especially with children. Not even Hadley could resist.
“Welcome to Jean Carlo’s, my dear. I hope you’ll come see us when you can.”
She smiled and whispered, “Thank you.”
“We’ll be back within the hour. Back door again?” The last thing Mable wanted was to endanger one of their few allies on the surface.
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Anything for you.”
Arturo was one of Mable’s favorite living humans, in a narrow group with Rowen and Hadley herself. There was almost nothing she wouldn’t do to protect him. Or any of them.
Mable kissed his cheek again and led Hadley through the door and into the alley.
No sooner had the door shut behind them than two black-uniformed Collectors emerged from the shadows.
Mable ran for the first, striking his face easily with her fist. After so many matches with Rowen in the dark, having the scant rays from a streetlight was more than enough to land a heavy blow.
The Collector dropped to the ground, his hand on his cheek.
It was then Mable heard the scream.
The second already had Hadley by the arm, twisting it painfully behind her back.
“Run!” Hadley shouted through gritted teeth, her shrieks renewed when he twisted her arm still further.
Mable didn’t move.
The fallen Collector regained his footing and arrived behind her to twist her arm as well, the standard disarmament procedure, as Rowen had told her.
She could get out of it. She could spin the Collector so fast he would black out from the impact and give her a chance to run. She’d done it before.
But not this time.
Now there was Hadley. They had chosen the perfect pressure point.
Rings of metal were secured around her wrists. “You are under arrest for curfew violation, code 631.1,” said the Collector robotically, his voice so monotone she wondered if he weren’t some kind of new-age drone.
But no. He was just a human drone.
THEO
LANCASTER CENTRAL HALL, LANCASTER, NORTH AMERICA
AUGUST 7, 2232
“Congratulations,” Dr. Masry said as she entered the viewing room. The six-foot tall woman with sleek black hair and a pressed azure pantsuit held the attention of every person in the room. She spoke quietly, without the exuberant speeches and ‘great society’ nonsense, but as the leader of their class, she didn’t need such antics. She had clout and presence enough.
“Thirteen bright new minds to join our elite class. I look forward to your contributions to our future.” She said the words but her perfect features looked bored. Theo realized it hadn’t been her choice to attend the ceremony. Probably yet another part of her vicereine duties.
“As you all should be aware, we have very specific procedures during your introductory period. You will be outfitted with your body suit, apply for mentors, and select an area of study. If you all will please follow me.”
Dr. Masry opened the door and proceeded down the hall without looking to see who followed, though of course they all did, a band of ducklings following their mother.
None of them said a word for the twenty minutes it took to walk to the Scholar Academy a few blocks away; their home for the next five years. The conical building shimmered with the simulated afternoon sun, at least, what they imagined it to be. No one had seen the sun from Lancaster, Pennsylvania in a century.
Theo still sweated under the black robes and blue cords.
At the glass doors bearing the Scholar emblem, Dr. Masry pressed her slender hand to the scanner. The doors slid apart and revealed a cavernous lobby area where a man and woman waited.
“Scholars, may I introduce Dr. Suzanne Winters and Dr. Andrew Barron, who will be responsible for you until such a time as you secure a mentor. They will escort you through your initial proceedings. Fair well, young Scholars.” Dr. Masry tipped her head at the group before heading off down one of the dozen corridors leading out of the central area.
Dr. Winters spoke first. “Ladies, please follow me.” The five new female Scholars fell into line behind her and disappeared down a corridor.
“All right, fellows. You’re with me.” Dr. Barron led them to the corridor third from the right. Theo saw no labels or signage to differentiate one from another. Still, he followed, resigned to his fate.
Dr. Barron stopped at one of the many unlabeled doors and motioned them forward. They found a wall of plain white lockers and a series of curtained off rooms. “Go ahead and grab your suit, lockers list the sizes on the front. Get changed and bring your clothes back to the container here.” He pointed to a large black bin with the torch icon for the incinerator.
They did as they were told, each too afraid or nervous or shy. The Scholar lifestyle was about devotion to your discipline and nothing else. It was far too early to jeopardize their careers. Each followed the instructions to the letter.
Even Isaac completed the tasks in silence. Already Theo missed Nate.
The large indigo sui
t fit much like the wetsuit provided in the Aquatic Science course at LCH. Theo’s broad shoulders were a little tight, but otherwise it was comfortable enough.
Theo tucked his wristlet under the suit where he could wear it inconspicuously. He didn’t want to explain why he wouldn’t let it be burned along with the rest of his things.
One by one, they emerged from the changing rooms in their identical suits. “All right, this way,” Barron led them further down the hall. Theo felt like a cow headed for slaughter.
The next room held eight Craftsmen, each standing behind a slim cosmetology chair. “Go on and have a seat.” Theo and his fellow Scholars each sat, Theo more despondent than the others. He had thoroughly enjoyed his shoulder-length hair, and while he had known he would be required to remove it after his Selection, it made the transition no less difficult.
He was supposed to be here with Nate. They had talked countless times about cutting their hair today, in this moment, only Nate wasn’t here. Theo felt the first shards of abandonment.
Without a word, the young Craftsman behind the chair took clippers to his head and shaved it clean. His dark locks cascaded to the floor. When she offered him a mirror, Theo hardly recognized his reflection.
His head was smooth, the skin on top lighter than that on his face. His features stood out vividly, his grey eyes like pools.
It was done.
Theo pushed away from the chair and found his position against the wall to wait for the others.
“Hey, looks good,” Isaac offered when he too was shaved clean.
“Thanks, you too,” Theo replied, though he didn’t mean it. Isaac looked like an infant. Theo wondered if he looked that bad as well.
“When do you think we get to go back to Lanc Central? I have all my stuff in a locker. My tablet, my pod keys.”